An Erie Operetta (3 page)

“I love your taste,” the big galoot said as he tongued a turgid nipple.

“I’d love to sit up before all the blood in my body travels to my head.” He laughed gruffly, sucked my nipple harshly then released it with a loud smacking sound. One-handed, he yanked me upward. My head swam. The bed posters came into the bed with me.

“Damn it,” he huffed, pulling out of me to untie me from the massive carved posters.” You need to control yourself, Templeton,” Mikel teased as one hunk of wood, then the other, hit the floor. I rubbed my left wrist.

“Yes, it was
me
that slipped into feral mode.” I gave him a raised eyebrow. He smiled wickedly before he gathered me up into his arms. We rolled into the middle of the bed. With a grunt, he had the thick duvet pulled over our cooling bodies. I buried my cold nose into his furry chest. A yawn snuck up. My eyes grew droopy. I felt his lips, toasty hot as always, pressing to the top of my head.

“Sleep,
elskede
,” he whispered into my hair. I grew all tickly fuzzy inside, hearing him call me “beloved” in Norwegian. I wanted to say something special in return but it would have to wait. Sleep overtook me. I slept for ten hours without moving.

Mikel slipping from our bed half-roused me.

“Go back to sleep, Templeton,” he said, leaning back over his side of the bed to drop a kiss to my scruffy cheek. “It’s just noon.”

“Noon,” I repeated sleepily. I fell back asleep before Mikel had the water in the shower turned on.

I was awakened at a little after four. I blinked at the shape standing beside the bed. The person tapping me smelled of lemon polish mixed with beeswax.

“I hope you slept well, Master Reed?” Rugby asked. I waved a hand around in a drowsy stupor. Damnation, but being a semi-hibernator sucks. Our majordomo moved around the bedroom, picking up clothing as well as shattered posts of solid oak. I ran my tongue over my teeth. They felt rather slimy. “Master Lupei informed me that you would need an extra bit of time to ready yourself for the opera this evening. To that end I have--”

“This evening?” I asked as I slowly sat up. The duvet slid from my chest. I squinted at the elderly man. He swam back into view with my glasses in his hand, all neatly cleaned. “Thank you, Rugby.” I smiled and placed my spectacles on my nose. Rugby’s round face came into sharp clarity. “You must have misheard Master Lupei,” I said as I slid out from under the tousled coverlet. I groaned softly. Loving, and being loved, by a lycan can be a tenderizing thing. “We just had our measurements taken for the tuxedos yesterday.”

I gingerly slipped my arms into a plush burgundy robe Rugby held open for me. Rugby is one of only four staff that reside in Lupei manor. Servants in our world are humanoid. If you look closely at Rugby though, you can see the slightly pointed ears, as well as the sharp chin of an elf. Rugby is a half-breed. A scorned product of our tightly governed rules about mating. Why he wasn’t killed upon birth I can’t say. Many Halflings are. According to Mikel, Rugby has been in his employ for nearly a hundred years. Halflings may live to be two hundred. Since Rugby is a Halfling, his only recourse is to be a servant. He can hold no other job in our world, by law. Halflings are even lower than skunks, weasels, and the other lesser breeds. And that is damned low and damned wrong, as is so much in our world.

“Master Reed, your tuxedo was delivered a mere hour ago by Master Tailor himself,” Rugby said as I stumbled blearily into the bathroom. He hurried around tidying the room as I relieved myself, talking about the quality of the gnome tailors’ work, explaining that dinner would be a light affair as the opera began at eight, and that he had noticed that I might require a touch-up to my white roots before the production this evening, if I so wished, of course.

“That will be fine, Rugby,” I yawned after giving it a shake. Into the tub I was steered. The water was hot enough to scald the fur off a werebruin. My ass refused to sink down into the steaming water. Rugby tut-tutted me then shoved. I went in up to my neck with a hoot of shock. Within a moment I was slumping back into the claw-foot tub, my eyelids heavy as stones.

“Do you wish for me to wash you, Master Reed?” Rugby inquired. My eyes flew open. The man had removed my glasses while I snoozed. I could barely make out the Rugby’s dark eyes.

“No, that won’t be necessary, Rugby.” I quickly took the bar of Mikel’s soap as well as the thick washcloth.

“I’ll leave you to your bath then, Master Reed. If you require any assistance, I shall be directly outside, sanding down the stumps.”

I slid down into the bubbles until all that remained above the soapy surface were my eyes. By the elders, imagine the gossip in the kitchen this evening. I scrubbed briskly. It was still rather unsettling for me to have a staff. My family never had a servant. It was a rather looked down upon practice among the lesser breeds to be honest. Just another sign of the elite subjugating those less fortunate than them, you know.

That was why I tended to pick up after the lycans now that I lived here. Mikel was constantly chiding me about it, telling me that serving his family name was all the staff knew or wished to do. But if they were given a choice in this world, surely they would choose something less subservient, wouldn’t they? It was a discussion he and I had frequently but never seemed to resolve.

Sixty minutes passed as I shaved, had my roots touched up, and was assisted into the most perfectly fitted tuxedo I had ever worn. As I gazed at my reflection in the full-length mirror inside the closet I shared with Mikel, I could not believe the dapper man staring back at me was Templeton Reed.

“Rugby, I look downright debonair!” I proclaimed. Rugby agreed, as all good domestics do. After one final tug on my cummerbund followed by an adjustment of the white rosebud in my lapel, he announced that I was ready. I fairly sailed down the grand staircase. Into the dining room I went. My jaw slapped my chest when my three dinner companions all rose in tandem.

“What a handsome trio,” I said and meant it. Each of the three lycan men filled out their ebony formalwear to perfection. Mikel stole my gaze and held it. His reddish-black hair was pulled back into a colonial-era club that drew out his regal cheekbones. His golden eyes glowed. The man made the suit in this instance. I eyed him openly. He bowed formally then waved at my seat next to his. I was so besotted with my lover that I stumbled over Eddie’s polished black shoe as I went around the table. Maybe if my eyes were on my clumsy feet instead of on Mikel...

“You cut a fine figure, Templeton,” Mikel said as I took my seat. My sight was still glued to the width of his shoulders beneath that incredible jacket. “Mrs. Dunrite informs me that we’re having grilled chicken with a side of avocado corn chowder.”

“I thought we were dining light,” I said as I snapped my napkin open.

“Well, it
is
only one chicken,” Mikel said with a saucy wink. My prick began to thicken. I quickly laid my napkin over my burgeoning erection. Mikel, knowing what the pink in my cheeks meant, ignored the slip of napkin etiquette -- hosts open their napkins first, according to the old ways -- then laid his own napkin over his lap. “We have an hour to dine. The ferry will be at the dock at precisely seven.”

The kitchen staff, which consisted of Mrs. Dunrite and a slim girl named Eru, who also bore the mark of the elf, hustled out of the kitchen. Rugby stood beside the roaring fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, ready to assist in serving should he be needed. He never was. I smiled at the short, squat cook. Mrs. Dunrite was a rarity among the rare, a Halfling that carried dwarven blood. When standing, her ginger head reached my chest. When she spoke to Mikel her nose brushed his navel. Her cheeks were round and red, her eyes brilliant green pools, her arms and waist thick, and her temper rumored to rival that of Wondak the Wild, a famous dwarven berserker warrior.

Eru hustled around the table, her black eyes downcast. Both women wore sober brown dresses with white aprons. Neither wore shoes. That might upset some but when you’re eating with werewolves, shoes are the least of one’s concerns. The chicken was placed in the middle of the table. Eru jerked her slim arm back when Dave and Eddie lunged at the meat. Mikel cleared his throat. Rugby gasped. Both lumbering males in black paused mid-pounce to stare blankly at their Alpha.

“Please sit down,” Mikel said. His men sat like well-heeled Pugs. “Have you forgotten to offer thanks to Grathbrok?”

The lycans mumbled something paltry. Mikel never partook unless the old gods had been honored. He firmly believed that paying homage to Grathbrok, the first man-wolf, would in turn bring the blessing of Fenris.

I peeked over at the cook. She had her head bowed but did not murmur along with the lycan prayer to the Norse gods. What gods did her people pray to? I resolved to learn more about the dwarves, for I knew next to nothing about them.

“So, Templeton, are you rested enough to stay awake during the performance?” Mikel asked after the prayer. Eru was serving the soup. Mrs. Dunrite stood in the corner beside a huge walnut server, her eyes always moving over the food as well as the server.

“Oh ha,” I quipped, nudging Mikel’s knee with mine. His smile made my dick happy. And hard. Those two things seem to go hand-in-hand. “Tell me about the ferry.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I’d rather see your face.” Mikel grinned wide enough to show a bit of fang. “Soup spoons please, gentlemen.”

Eddie and Dave exhaled strongly enough to ruffle Eru’s hair as she placed a basket of freshly baked wheat rolls to the table. Soup bowls returned to their plates. The sound of spoons mixed with loud slurps soon filled the dining room. Eru hustled about, removing empty bowls, relighting candles that would blow out on the twin candelabras on the table, and refilling goblets with water or wine. The chicken was sliced by Mrs. Dunrite. The meal progressed pleasantly, finishing with a light dessert of key lime tarts.

I was stuffed when we pushed away from the table. The lycans were grumbling about having a snack that was called dinner.

“That was a wonderful meal,” I said to Mrs. Dunrite.

“Thanks be upon you, Master Reed.” She curtsied, then turned to hustle the elf Halfling through the kitchen door. I did not miss the quick look Eru threw over her thin shoulder. I glanced around. Dave was staring at the door swinging back into place. Well, well! Was this a budding attraction? My mouth opened to ask but I never got the chance. Mikel tugged me along in his wake like a reluctant toddler. Rugby soon had us scarfed, gloved, coated, and out the door before I could check my teeth for undesirable wedges of food.

“I really wish you would stop wolf-handling me,” I snapped as we hustled across the snowy grounds. Lake Erie was ugly this evening. It clawed at its banks as a winter storm worked the water into a froth. The lake always intimidated me. Whenever it grew ugly it reminded me of a map hanging in Mikel’s study. It shows the lake as well as every ship that has gone down into her cold, dark depths. There was barely an inch on that map of the lake that did not have a sunken ship marker. I always wondered how many souls wandered the shorelines.

The snow was up to my knees. My thick woolen coat pulled at me as the wind off the water whipped around us. Sleet began to swirl into our faces. I burrowed into my coat as we slogged to the dock. This was an area of the estate I tried to stay away from. Memories of the near death-experience I had with Mikel’s sister filled my head. When we reached the end of the soaking wet dock, I turned my back to the gales. Mikel stood behind me, his huge body serving as an excellent windbreak. The flames in the lanterns Eddie and Dave held flickered wildly. I startled when a foghorn erupted to shatter the winter winds. The frozen rain made a mess of my glasses. I dared not remove them for fear I would miss seeing the magnificent paddleboat pulling up to the dock.

Four

The paddleboat had to be five hundred feet long and black as the night. The magic surrounding the ship was thick. It hummed along my spine. A plank was tossed out by salty-looking crew members. We four stepped gingerly onto the boat, cold hands grabbing us as we slipped and slewed across wet wooden floorboards. The crew steered us landlubbers to the massive cabin. The door opened. Heat swooshed out to embrace us. I stood slack-jawed in the doorway, cold air blowing our scarves out in front of us.

“Your expression is absolutely priceless.” Mikel laughed and pulled me inside. I would never have imagined such grandeur! The boat was packed with magical beings, all looking resplendent in evening gowns of every shade as well as superbly cut tuxedoes. Chandeliers hung over our heads. The floor was covered with thick carpeting. Halfling servers moved among the operagoers, trays of food or champagne carried before them.

“Oh man, check out the buffet.” Eddie was salivating. Off he went to a long table that nearly bowed under the weight of a huge roasted pig complete with apple in mouth as well as several dozen side dishes. Elegantly set tables filled the huge lounge, each with a dark red tablecloth and a silver candelabra. Mikel took my elbow.

“Now remember, your invitation to the opera is my gift to you for your work on my lineage forms after the incident with my sister,” Mikel said beside my ear. I nodded dully, my senses too overwhelmed with the riches before me. Back in town, lesser-breed children were going to bed hungry. Somehow that knowledge seemed to tarnish the opulence. We moved through the crowd, me at my lover’s side pretending to be his underling instead of his partner. The ferry never rocked or swayed. The magic shielding it from human eyes was powerful indeed.

While Eddie and Dave feasted as only werewolves can feast, Mikel introduced me to the elite of the shifting community, elderly cat matriarchs mostly. There were no other lycans onboard. Mikel was the leader of the only sanctioned pack within a five hundred mile area of Lake Erie. My robust lover would seek out and kill any stray wolf that wandered into his territory. Well, let me correct that. He would offer the rogue the chance to join the pack. If he or she refused, then Mikel would rip the intruder into tiny lycan strips. Such was the world of the werewolf. I also noted a lack of the werebruins, but that was to be expected. They were all denned up for the winter. Lucky slobs. I wish I could take the winter months off to sleep. Imagine, sleeping for a few days, then waking up to eat, shower and make love, then curling back up for another few days of slumber. I yawned just thinking about it.